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rose_in_winterCharacters: Sarah, Mack
Rating: G
Contains: Spoilers through Disc 2
Wordcount: 570
Notes: Written formonthlysupergo, prompt "Spirit" in the Elements table, for January 2017
Betas: None
Summary: Sarah has always sought knowledge in all its forms.
Sarah has learned many things since coming to this new world. It is what she was sent here for, though she made her own life around it both there and here. She has learned history, and science—this world does so much to compensate for the thin and fragile threads of magic that scarcely hold it together, and finds so many ways to work around that lack. She has read poetry and learned how to shape the magic of this world, so much harder than her own. In her own world, magic is a fluid thing; one need only think the shape and it appears, from things as simple as cutting a block of stone without tools to the vast intricacies of generating a complete moving orrery to illustrate celestial movements three thousand years in the future.
She had to fight, when she came here, to piece together the ways that magic worked. Here, magic takes elemental forms, the simple building blocks of fire, water, air, and earth. She spent hundreds of years perfecting the lowest spells until they were easy. Yet even that, Gongora stole from her, as he stole her daughter from her, and the thought makes anger burn within her.
A small hand links with hers, and Sarah looks down to see her grandson watching her with serious eyes.
"What is it?" he asks. Mack is sensitive to the swell of emotion among the adults, more so even than most children. Sarah wonders if the forest spirit that granted him his magic granted him that, too.
"I was remembering something," she says.
He frowns. "Why does it make you angry?"
Sarah takes a slow breath so that she won't sigh. Mack is brave, and strong for his age, but the burdens of adults are not for him to bear. "I was remembering someone who did something hurtful," she says. "But it doesn't matter now." Kaim, of all of them, was the one to discover that by connecting with mortals, they could learn skills faster than they ever did before—quickly restoring all that Gongora stole from them. The most treasured part of this, for Sarah, is understanding the spiritual fire that burns so bright in her grandchildren. Cooke is fierce in her healing the way that the first days of spring are as harsh as the winter they chase away. Many of those she worked with in her own world would have called Mack's spirit magic simple, with a grating sneer—it is primal, and even more basic than the elemental spells she once worked so hard to master. It is raw, and complex, and every time she fights alongside him, she marvels anew at this thing she has learned to do now, from one who is untutored.
Mack studies her with eyes as old as the forest, and a chill ghosts down her spine.
He squeezes her hand. "Do you know how to make someone move faster?" he asks, and yes, he is distracting her on purpose, but it warms her heart to know that he has that kindness in him—warmer and gentler than the spirit that gave him his power.
"I don't," she says gravely. "Will you teach me?"
He nods, and crouches down to draw diagrams in the dirt with his fingertip, as any other boy his age might do.
Sarah kneels next to him, and reaches greedily for the knowledge.
Rating: G
Contains: Spoilers through Disc 2
Wordcount: 570
Notes: Written for
monthlysupergo, prompt "Spirit" in the Elements table, for January 2017Betas: None
Summary: Sarah has always sought knowledge in all its forms.
Sarah has learned many things since coming to this new world. It is what she was sent here for, though she made her own life around it both there and here. She has learned history, and science—this world does so much to compensate for the thin and fragile threads of magic that scarcely hold it together, and finds so many ways to work around that lack. She has read poetry and learned how to shape the magic of this world, so much harder than her own. In her own world, magic is a fluid thing; one need only think the shape and it appears, from things as simple as cutting a block of stone without tools to the vast intricacies of generating a complete moving orrery to illustrate celestial movements three thousand years in the future.
She had to fight, when she came here, to piece together the ways that magic worked. Here, magic takes elemental forms, the simple building blocks of fire, water, air, and earth. She spent hundreds of years perfecting the lowest spells until they were easy. Yet even that, Gongora stole from her, as he stole her daughter from her, and the thought makes anger burn within her.
A small hand links with hers, and Sarah looks down to see her grandson watching her with serious eyes.
"What is it?" he asks. Mack is sensitive to the swell of emotion among the adults, more so even than most children. Sarah wonders if the forest spirit that granted him his magic granted him that, too.
"I was remembering something," she says.
He frowns. "Why does it make you angry?"
Sarah takes a slow breath so that she won't sigh. Mack is brave, and strong for his age, but the burdens of adults are not for him to bear. "I was remembering someone who did something hurtful," she says. "But it doesn't matter now." Kaim, of all of them, was the one to discover that by connecting with mortals, they could learn skills faster than they ever did before—quickly restoring all that Gongora stole from them. The most treasured part of this, for Sarah, is understanding the spiritual fire that burns so bright in her grandchildren. Cooke is fierce in her healing the way that the first days of spring are as harsh as the winter they chase away. Many of those she worked with in her own world would have called Mack's spirit magic simple, with a grating sneer—it is primal, and even more basic than the elemental spells she once worked so hard to master. It is raw, and complex, and every time she fights alongside him, she marvels anew at this thing she has learned to do now, from one who is untutored.
Mack studies her with eyes as old as the forest, and a chill ghosts down her spine.
He squeezes her hand. "Do you know how to make someone move faster?" he asks, and yes, he is distracting her on purpose, but it warms her heart to know that he has that kindness in him—warmer and gentler than the spirit that gave him his power.
"I don't," she says gravely. "Will you teach me?"
He nods, and crouches down to draw diagrams in the dirt with his fingertip, as any other boy his age might do.
Sarah kneels next to him, and reaches greedily for the knowledge.